Music was my Prison
by Tyler743
Summary: A quick one shot about Soul Eater Evans before entering the DWMA, and his first encounter with Maka Albarn. (terrible description D:)


**An old one shot I wrote a while back. I was (still am) fairly proud of it so I decided, why not post it. Tell me what you guys think :) Enjoy!**

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_M__usic…_

Growing up, it's all I knew. It was my life, and I was expected to take it as seriously as I could, even when I didn't want to. My parents kept my older brother and I on a tight leash, allowing us only to focus on our school work, and music careers. Never were we aloud to associate with other children, nor were we aloud to participate in any normal childlike activities. For the most part we were kept indoors; home schooled from the time we could talk, we knew very well that we were far past the level of our peers. In some ways, I guess you could call us geniuses, in both an academic and musical sense. Most people would say that they would kill to be in our position, and well…if I could, I would trade with any one of them.

The stress that came with living under the _"Evans"_ name was almost unbearable. Everywhere we went, every competition we took place in, nothing less then perfect was what was expected of us. Every note had to be precise, every pause had to be taken dramatically, and every song had to be played with the emotion it deserved. Everyday it was heavy suits, uncomfortable shoes, and fixed gelled hair. Just once in my life I wanted to stay in my pajamas's, and do absolutely nothing from the time I woke up to the time I went back to sleep. Or maybe even sleep the entire day, or at least sleep in for a few hours, something I had never once done before. My brother, Wes, was able to cope better with the stress then I could. But he was a musical prodigy in our parent's eyes; he got a few breaks every now and then.

Wesley Evans, the proud, magnificent violinist; the one who had traveled around the world, performing in competitions and winning every single one, all by age twelve. He was three times more of the son my parents wanted, three times more than I could ever be. The way they talked to him, the way they treated him. You could see it every time they looked at him, written on their faces, that they loved him more. He could make them proud, because that's who he was. He wanted their love to be focused entirely on him, in a way, he was jealous of me. He had been born four years before me, within that time he could receive all of their attention. When I came into the picture, he saw me as a rival. Being only an infant, of course they would have to focus more on me, that's just how it is. But as time went by, and as we began to grow, I could tell that he was desperately trying to regain the position of favorite child, and it was working. Less lazy, more eager to bend to their every whim, Wes was set. I on the other hand, slowly fell behind, and before I knew it…I was completely alone.

Solan Evans, that was my name. I was pianist, and I was fairly good…in my opinion. I traveled to a few different countries, performing in a couple competitions. And just as Wes , I too received first place every time. But my success didn't even compare to his; not even close. And it was always for a different reason.

"_You didn't play you're pauses!"_

"_The song you chose didn't fit the theme!"_

_ "You weren't concentrating hard enough!"_

Everything I did, no matter how well I did it, it just wasn't right. I always made sure to play every single pause. The music didn't fit the theme? How is that possible? Music sounds different for everybody, it just depends on how you look at it, on how you hear it. And I _always_ concentrated! _Always_! Never once did I slack on a performance. Arguing didn't work though; I was always the one at fault, no matter how much I said in my defense.

There was one time I remember so clearly, the memory burned into my mind. It was after a concert, my parents and Wes were so happy with their success. I had done well too, but I didn't feel like celebrating. As they left the auditorium, and the crowd slowly disappeared, I stood still in the center of the stage, my feet glued to the oak wood floor. I stared out at the empty seats, imagining them filled before slowly advancing over to the large black, grand piano that was sitting only a few feet away. Running my hand across the case, I took a seat on the edge of the stool before lifting it. And looking down at the small white and black keys, I knew that something had come over me in those few minutes as my mind and hands took over and began playing. The song was a dark, sad melody that I hadn't recalled hearing before, but I somehow knew every note. My family had just left me…they didn't even insist on me coming with them. They didn't want me.

As the song came to a close, I felt one single tear roll down my cheek, escaping through my tightly closed lids. Had my eyes been closed this whole time? I hadn't really noticed closing them. It wasn't until the last echoed sound of the piano died, that I finally heard something and my eyes snapped open. Someone was clapping. One person in the audience had heard my drear lullaby, and was actually praising it. My head turned to once again look out at the desolate theater. Sitting in the front row, staring up at me with bright, violent green eyes, was a girl around my age; her ash blonde hair tied up in two pigtails that fell over her shoulders. And a large, affected smile plastered to her face. I remember thinking at the time, _"why is she here?"_ and _"why did she like this song so much?"_ it was dark and somewhat eerie if you will. I watched as the girl stood up and slowly started to make her way to me, the clicking sound of her high heeled feet ringing throughout the room.

"That was really good!" she told me, lifting herself up onto the stage. My eyes shifted to the piano, and I could feel a knot begin to tie in my chest. What was I supposed to say to her?

"Thank you," was what I had meant to reply, but it came out in more of a horse groan, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Thanks."

The girls smile grew. "What kind of song was that? I've never heard anything like it, it was beautiful."

"It was…just something I sort of came up with I guess." I mumbled the best answer I could think of, because it was true. The song had come entirely from my head, it was all mine; my thoughts, and emotions. The girl raised her arm and pressed one of her small fingers down on one of the keys, causing the piano to sing out.

"You know, if you played this kind of song in your actual performances, people might actually understand you better."

My eyes widened. Who was this girl to come here and start lecturing me about my piano playing? Understand me better, really? The songs I play are classical masterpieces that anyone who knows music would understand completely.

The girl seemed to catch the fact that I had taken offence to what she had suggested and quickly took her hand away from the keys. "What I meant by that was, well…the songs you play are beautiful, but every pianist can play them. This song, you could feel it, all of your emotion. The song was about you, and you could tell. I'm not saying you have to do it, but maybe if you stopped being what everyone wants you to be and started being who you actually are, maybe it would show in your music as well."

An unsettling silence filled the room. I felt heated and annoyed at this girl, but at the same time I knew that she was right and I was amazed that she actually could read me from listening to just one, two minute song. I stood from the piano stool and faced the girl. She gazed back at me and extended her hand, waiting for mine to greet it.

"My names Maka," she introduced herself, her voice a tad bit more girly then it had been only moments ago. I looked down at her hand before hesitantly taking it in my own and shaking it lightly, her warm touch immediately heating my cold skin.

"Solan…" I replied shyly.

I wasn't aware of it at the time, but I would soon come to a realization that that was the moment that changed my life from there on out. That girl, she was my escape, and music…

_ Music was my prison._

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**And there you have it. A quick one shot about Soul before the DWMA and his complicated life with his family and musical career. Hope you guys enjoyed :D **


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